Santiago de Cuba

You know you’re in Cuba when you get on your plane…from the back end…and your seat is in the front. Thus began our weekend trip to Santiago de Cuba. Other than that, the plane was fairly normal; a flight of about a hundred and fifty people lasting about an hour and a half. We then disembarked in the Santiago airport. As we were collecting our luggage, the power went out twice. This could have either been a normal Cuba occurrence or a specific product of the storm passing over Santiago at that moment. No one will ever know. After a long day of class and travel, I settled in to sleep for the night.

Friday was full of activities; in my opinion, the best excursions that we’ve gone on during any of our weekend trips. Frist we made a brief stop by the Plaza de la Revolucion en Santiago. Every major city has a plaza like this; while Havana’s is dedicated (with a huge phallic monument) to Jose Marti, Santiago’s honors Antonio Maceo, another hero of the War for Independence against Spain. After this, we headed to the church of the Virgen de la Caridad de Cobre. The literal translation is the Copper Virgen of Charity, and she is the patron saint of Cuba. People come from all over the country to pray in front of her for miracles. The church was beautifual, but even more amazing was the view from the church of the surrounding valley. We were among the mountains and looking down onto the nearby copper mines (for which the Virgen was named).

I have to comment again on the fallacy of statements made by Margarita Alarcon (see my private blog for notes on her identity). Anyway, during one of our classes, she told us that Cuba is better than the DR becauses here you don’t have people living in poverty in shacks on the banks of a river. Yes, maybe not right in the center of Havana, but yes, you do, around the outer edges, like on the banks of the Rio Almendares. And then here, in the eastern part of the country, MANY people live in such huts. It makes me so mad at Marg, not just at her as a person, but as a symbol for this entire furcked up situation where the government and its representatives think that they are doing such good things to help the people, but yet…I don’t know. And on the other hand, I was thinking of these people in the shacks and trying to put myself in their shoes. Granted, they live in crappy houses. But they lived in crappy houses before the Revolution, too. At least now they (or their kids) have free education, free health care (despite its low quality, I’m sure it’s better than what they had pre-Fidel), and guaranteed jobs and salaries. So maybe for them it really is so much better. I honestly don’t know. I’m leaving this country with even more questions than I had when I arrived.

Next we hiked up a mini-mountain to see a monument honoring the Cimarrones, or slaves who escapted and ran away to form their own communities in the mountains. We found what used to be a well, and its basically a big pit now used for African ceremonies. The best part of it was the artwork. Meg and I were exploring it for a while before anyone else came over, and it gave me this awe-inspiring sense of all the history that weighed down on the moments; on the idea of these people who had been free, then had to endure slavery, but then freed themselves and were able to celebrate and live life again. I can’t really explain it but it was a tremendous feeling, almost sacred in a way.

After this, we stopped in the house of an “espiritista”, or shaman of sorts who uses all different sorts of techniques and rituals from the different Afro-Cuban religions in order to perform healing (or other?) ceremonies. He had some of the most beautiful artwork I’ve ever seen on the walls of his house.

After lunch, we stopped by the “Morro” of Santiago. Just as the Morro in Havana, here it is a fort on the seacoast meant to defend the city. Santiago’s was built in 1515. After this, exhausted, I passed the rest of the day in bed.

Saturday morning we departed for Guantanamo. Despite being told by various people that it was not a city for tourists, we all insisted on seeing this town which has been so closely linked with the United States over time. The drive there felt like we’d been transported back to the time of dinosuars. I swear I saw the head of a brachiosaurus peeking out from the mist as we drove through the mountain valleys. It was so beautiful and unspoiled. It is so different from the western part of the island, and reminded me so much of the Dominican Republic. Actually, this whole trip reminded me of DR. I guess people are right when they say that the eastern part of the island is more Caribbean that Havana and its environs- I definitely felt that way. It gives you almost a thrill, an animalistic sense to look at the countryside here- you feel a raw energy flowing through you.

The other thing I noticed on the way was what I’ll call hero stones. Basically, a lot of people had in their front yards a group of stones with the names of the 5 Cubans who are imprisioned in the US. The people in here would also have stones saying things like “they will return”. Seeing things like that, or pro-Fidel graffiti, always makes me wonder if it’s genuine and spontaneous, or demanded by the local brqnch of the CDR (Committee in Defense of the Revolution). Again, who’ll ever know.

So everyone was right about Gitmo. Not a tourist town by any stretch of the imagination. It definitely was poorer than Havana, although prices also seemed lower. It’s also clear from the amount of attention that we received from men that they are not accustomed to having foreign women in town. Other than that, it was a pretty quiet and sleepy town. We walked around, had lunch, and headed bacck home. Much to our chagrin, you can no longer even see the American military base from a distance. Apparently, Cubans would go there to “visit” and swim from a certain lookout point to Gitmo to get asylum. So now the Cuban military prevents anyone from getting too close.

Saturday night we went to a tumba francesa. It’s descended from the French contredanse music, and was brought to Ccuba when French plantation owners brought their slaves with them from Haiti as they were fleeing the slave rebellion which became the Revolution. So what we saw was a mix of French singing and dancing with African drumming- a great blend of aesthetics, and I really enjoyed the show. Also very exciting were the roles that two women had in the ritual. There were some women singing, dancing, and playing the maracas. There was also one woman drumming, and another, who led the singing, filling in one of the male dancer roles. The latter may have just been because one male dancer couldn’t make it to the show, but to have seen a female drummer was especially exciting; this Arara African tradition is a huge departure from all the other African drumming ceremonies that we’d seen in the past. Very impressive, in my opinion.

After that, we went back to the hotel and relaxed all night. I felt like perhaps I didn’t take enough advantage of Santiago and the time we had there, but for me it’s like a rest period. I know that I’m heading back to spend the last week in Havana with my boyfriend, and I figure that we will be doing all different trips and sights that we never saw the past few weeks- aka, little sleep for Tara.

The last event of Santiago was a trova concert on Sunday morning. Trova is related to the old European troubadours, musicians who would roam with a guitar and sing about current events. Fun fact: later trova in Cuba turned into protest songs, and they were greatly influenced by American artists like Pete Seeger and Bob Dylan. I’ll close this blog by talking about the first singer. She paused between songs, and was talking about life. I’m paraphrasing a bit, but the general message was “we only have one life, and you have to live it”. I cannot count on all my fingers and toes the amount of Cubans who have said that same phrase to me during my time here. I think it explains a lot about their resilience and in some cases their willingness to break rules or defy authority. With so little to look forward to, there’s this necessity to seize every opportunity for happiness, however short it may be, or however much pain it brings you in the end.